


it's shaking the sky, and I'm following lightning

by hotelsweet



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: AU, Airports, F/M, Fear of Flying, Flying, Meet-Cute, One Shot, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 13:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11647752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotelsweet/pseuds/hotelsweet
Summary: jake + amy + meet-cute on a plane = loveliness. a prompt from my tumblr





	it's shaking the sky, and I'm following lightning

**Author's Note:**

> theartofdreaming1 asked:
> 
> Hey, I had a random idea that could work as a prompt: AU meet-cute (because I'm a sucker for these) - Jake and Amy are seated next to each other on a flight and Amy is super uncomfortable/ close to freaking out (maybe because of her claustrophobia?) and Jake helps her calm down and they spend the rest of the flight talking? I dunno; random idea is random ^^;

 

It’s at around 7:18pm, sat in the airport lounge waiting for her flight, that Amy Santiago figures out that she is most likely receiving a death glare from the woman sat opposite because she hasn’t stopped tapping her fingernails against her passport for the last ten minutes.

As soon as this realisation hits her she snaps out of it, immediately feeling the odd hollowness created by the absence of her nervous tick.

It’s not her fault. Flying is and always has been one of her worst fears- though nowadays, she’s mostly been able to subdue the anxiety for the sake of adult life, childhood nightmares of falling from the sky long behind her, sometimes it simply gets the better of her.

This, by all accounts, would be one of those times.

Her fingers itch to keep tapping. A light sheen of sweat glistens uncomfortably over her forehead. Her stomach churns, nausea pulsating under every centimetre of her skin at the thought what’s essentially a large tin can propelling itself through the air until she’s back home in New York.

Focused on the huge plane outside the window, she can’t help the feeling of complete helplessness that fills her.

“ _Will passengers for the American Airlines flight 481 to JFK please begin boarding_ _…”_

A cool, calm female voice echoes through the atrium, and everyone around Amy begins to move, standing up and organising their things before rushing over to the gate.

Perhaps she stands up too quickly, but a wave of dizziness slams into her like she’s been hit by a car.

Despite the collected, sweet voice that instructs her and everyone around her, she can’t help the bitter irritation that brews within her at the thought of this flight. When it’s bad, it’s _really_ bad; claustrophobia, social anxiety, the works. A complete tapestry of anxiety.

With a sigh, she picks up her bag and heads towards the boarding gate, waiting patiently in line with everyone else.

Inwardly, as she pats away the sweat on her forehead, she prays she’s not sitting next to a total asshole.

 

 

 

 

***

 

 

 

 

As luck would have it, she is, in fact, sat next to a total asshole.

“Hey, Angie?! Could I get, like, a whole bunch more of these nuts? I’m super snacky.”

Sat up on his seat like a little kid, the man sat next to her, in the window seat, beams toothily at the flight attendant- who, to Amy’s disgust, giggles softly at him with a nod, before heading towards the back of the cabin. He’s tall, dressed in a leather jacket with a hoodie underneath- like he can’t decide whether he wants to be an adult or a teenager, she thinks. Annoyance stirs within her at the entire image of him, and only partially because she has a select and precise loathing for men who speak to female employees as if they’re friends.

Since he’s arrived, squeezing past her into his seat, he’s fiddled loudly with his little TV screen, chatted to the cabin crew like they’re his college buds, and hummed the entirety of what she’s fairly certain was a Coldplay song. She’s never seen someone so unapologetically cheerful and friendly.

He must catch the side-eye she’s giving him, because after he’s sat himself back down, his attention keeps coming back to her, looking at her oddly, a combination of interest and confusion in his expression.

She tries to ignore it, the way he’s unabashedly observing her in public, watching her go through each of her electronic devices and turn them off. His gaze burns into her, completely unashamed, until she actually finds herself becoming frustrated. He must be used to this, being able to look at and speak to whoever he wants- he’s pretty good-looking, and clearly a confident guy. Somehow, this only makes her want to scold him more.

“Can I help you?” She asks him sweetly.

“Y’know, you don’t _actually_ need to do that,” he says matter-of-factly, nodding down at her lap, in which sits her laptop, her phone, and her iPod, all now shut off or on airplane mode.

“What? Yes, you do,” she says, “otherwise why would they ask you to?”

“Because it’s not actually dangerous, it just makes an annoying noise over the radar when they’re trying to fly.”

“Well, then,” she says, smiling coolly, “I guess I just have a shred of common courtesy.”

He doesn’t reply to this, instead raising his eyebrows indignantly and sitting back in his seat. She glances over at him, just once, to see if he’s reacted- but all that remains on his face is a slight expression of amusement. It’s just on the brink of irritating, as though her speaking back to him is funny somehow.

Quietly, she opens her bag in her lap, and begins to dig for her Ambien and a bottle of water. Her fingers find the bottle, pulling it out of the bag- but, to her horror, the pills are nowhere in sight.

“No, c’mon…” she mutters to herself as she begins to dig through her bag more urgently.

Annoyance and another dollop of anxiety smacks her gut harshly as she realises she’s about to sit here, for six hours, next to _this_ dude, without anything to calm her down. She could always soothe the nerves with some wine, but right now she’d rather do anything than bring that flight attendant back to her.

A soft _ding_ signifies the seatbelt sign coming on for the first time- Amy’s stomach twinges with nerves, even though this fits the order of things, the bustle and hubbub of people settling into their seats having died down. The little screen in front of her lights up and begins to play a safety video, and several flight attendants file into the aisles to begin their demonstration.

“I’m Jake,” the man next to her says quietly as she watches the hostess in front of them.

She smiles politely at him then looks back towards the hostess. It’s not that he seems genuinely awful, or anything- even if he has been mildly irritating in the half an hour or so they’ve spent together- but she just could not be in less of a mindset to make a friend; even chatting feels a little too much of an effort to push her head into right now. Judging by the way he was talking to that attendant, there’s also the chance that he’s about to start flirting with her, which she _really_ can’t deal with right now. So, as far as she’s concerned, the best option is silence.

“Okay, I’m sorry for picking on you when you put all of your electronics into airplane mode. I have a reflex where I can’t help but pick on dorky little things like that.”

“Are you sure that was an apology?” She narrows her eyes and turns to him. He looks at her candidly, like he’s genuinely undecided. It’s at this exact moment that she realises he’s harmless, going from one goofy expression to the next like a teenager.

“I guess I’m a little out of practice,” he admits, a small chuckle rising from his throat.

“Right.”

Though she’s looking forward at the air hostess, she allows herself a small smile now, as it becomes clearer and clearer that, immature as he could be, his main issue as a person seems to be being overfriendly.

“I’m Amy,” she offers.

“Amy,” he repeats, smiling. “Nice to meet you.” He offers his hand, which she shakes firmly. “Good shake,” he comments.

“I’m well-practiced,” she says proudly. Momentarily, she spots confusion dart over his face, but she ignores it- she doesn’t owe him the wild stories of her handshake seminars, not yet.

“So what’s bringing you to New York?” He asks quietly, after a moment.

“Sorry, I just-” she cuts in over him awkwardly, “I want to listen to this,” she says, looking between him and the safety demonstration.

“Right,” he says, and she turns back to watch. Only a couple of seconds pass before he’s talking again. “I can only assume this is your first ever flight, because there’s literally no other reason to be that invested in an airline’s safety guidelines.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she replies, “but do you ever stop talking?”

“I guess not,” he says, throwing a peanut in the air and catching it in his mouth. “Nut?”

“I’m good.”

“Your loss.” He throws another in the air.

“Oh! You’re not wearing your seatbelt,” she realises out loud, the concern in her tone immediately making her a little self-conscious.

“Oh, right,” he mutters, clicking it into place. “Forgot.”

 _Forgot?_ She watches him fiddle with it, then go into his hand luggage, pulling out a bottle of Gatorade, from which he takes a hefty swig. She can’t help but feel a little sick at this- the thought of any beverage other than coffee is too much for her.

He’s unlike anyone she’s ever met before- a decent-looking man, likely around her age, with the habits and chatter of a five-year-old.

Distracted by him, she almost jumps when the plane’s engines begin to rumble, grasping firmly onto the arm rests of her seat as they do.

“Woah,” Jake murmurs, and Amy’s not sure whether it’s a genuine reaction or being said in a bid to reassure her somehow. Either way, she doesn’t care. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah, just took me by surprise a little,” she admits.

“Sir,” that flight hostess’s voice returns again, directed towards Jake, “if I could request that you close your tray table.”

“Sure, smort,” he replies hastily, smiling up at her.

“ _Smort_? Very smooth,” Amy jibes as soon as the hostess is out of earshot. He narrows his eyes. “Y’know she’s essentially _paid_ to flirt with you, right?”

“For the record, I find it very hurtful and presumptuous that you’re assuming I’m trying to flirt with her.”

“Please, it’s all you’ve done since you stepped onto this plane.”

“How d’you know that?”

“I don’t, obviously, I just mean… y’know, you’re-” She stammers, irritated by the small smile this evokes from him.

The plane jumps as something kickstarts in the engine, and, startled, Amy’s grip on the arm rests tightens- she looks out of the window, and notices that they’re at the start of the runway. At once, both fear and gratitude seeps into her system- fear, in response to the fact that she’s about to be launched 35,000 feet into the air, and gratitude in response to the fact that, by some miracle, Jake has kept her distracted from it all for the last ten minutes or so.

“Cabin crew, please take your seats for takeoff…” A low voice comes through the ceiling, raspy as though playing through a radio. Panic strikes into Amy’s chest.

“Talk to me,” she hears herself saying to Jake, before she’s even thought about it. “Please.”

She’s expecting a joke, a look of confusion, or at least a smartass reply back- but instead, his nonchalant expression changes immediately into one of concern.

“Sure, sure,” he starts, “Uh. You never said why you’re going to New York.”

“I’m going home,” she says quickly, as the plane starts to move. “I live in Brooklyn.”

“Nice,” he replies, “I live in Williamsburg.”

“Hipster-ville,” she says, without hesitation. To her surprise, he laughs.

“I was about to argue back, but someone opened a cronut store opposite my apartment the other week.”

“A cronut store? As in, _just_ cronuts?”

“Yeah. They’re not even that great. And I’d know- I once ate nothing but pastry for three days”

There’s a pause, and Amy’s eyes find the window, where the plane is now picking up speed along the runway. Jake must notice this too, because he tries to pick up conversation again rather hurriedly-

“Roommates?”

“What?”

“D’you have ‘em?” He smiles, in what must be at least partial disbelief, at the sudden, high-paced conversation they’re having.

“Yeah, three!”

“Three?!”

“Yeah,” she laughs nervously, “I’m kind of low on cash. I’m training at the Academy right now- I want to be a cop, so I’m commuting, and training, and working, and… what?” She stops at the only _slightly_ gorgeous grin he’s giving her right now.

“You’re at the Academy?”

“Yeah,” she says slowly.

“No way. I’m a cop! I finished my training a couple years back.”

“Are you kidding?” She asks seriously, completely unable to picture this man-child in uniform.

He starts to answer, but the plane leaves the ground, and she can’t help the small gasp that escapes her.

“It’s okay, don’t worry.” His voice is calm, natural, quiet- just for her. By some miracle, it works, even if only by a little, her body settling into an out-of-place calmness. “We’re good.”

“Keep talking,” she pleads, only slightly embarrassed now by her evident vulnerability with this man, a total stranger. Nevertheless, she smiles over at him, thankful for his reassurance.

“Oh, right- so, yeah, I’m working at the 90.”

“Beat cop?”

“Yeah. Hopefully a detective in a few years.”

“That’s exciting,” she says, but she’s got her eyes closed, trying to quell the dizziness caused by the rapid ascent of the plane. He chuckles softly- she presumes at her attempt to hold a conversation with her eyes closed- and though normally she’d feel a little put out by this, she can’t help but laugh along with him.

Of all the things she thought she’d be doing on her flight, feeling her lungs fill with laughter as she took off was not on the list.

The plane lifts, and lifts, and lifts- and then it doesn’t, gliding through the clouds seamlessly.

A small _ding_ alerts her to the seatbelt sign, which has just turned off.

“So, you’re not big on flying, huh.”

The remark comes a little while after they’re in the air. She’s breathing slowly- the conversation with Jake died down a few minutes ago, after the plane became more stable in the air.

She glances over at him, feeling sarcasm brim in her throat- but his expression is soft, of genuine concern.

“No,” she half-laughs. “I’m not.”

“It’s no big deal.”

“It’s just so… annoying. I know, logically, that I’m fine, but it just creeps up on me, I guess.”

“It happens. Sometimes you just need a distraction.”

He looks over at her, smiling.

“Right,” she says, meeting his gaze.

A pause lingers between them for just a moment.

“So,” he begins, eventually, cutting the tension. “How’s the Academy?”

“Intense,” she offers quickly, “but I like it.”

“Some of those old drills still haunt me,” he shudders. She laughs, relaxing a little. “What do you want to do?”

“Ideally? Captain of my own precinct.”

“Woah.”

“Yeah,” she replies proudly, smiling lowly.

“For the record, you definitely seem like a Captain.”

“Really?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“You’ve known me for like, half an hour.”

He smiles, but just as his lips part and he begins to speak again, the plane jolts harshly, the first knock of turbulence.

Amy’s hands shoot straight back to the armrests on either side of her chair, one firmly grabbing Jake’s arm. She lets go quickly, looking over at him apologetically. He looks as though he’s about to start talking again, reassure her- but he gives up, and only smiles.

Nerves spill into her system like electricity.

This time, it’s not the plane.

 

 

***

 

 

 

“Such a good movie,” Jake murmurs as _Die Hard_ ’s credits begin to roll in front of them.

His voice is almost too close- after a couple hours of conversation, spanning from everything from her seven brothers to his absent pilot father to the best cop movies of all time, they’d decided to watch _Die Hard_ , Jake’s favourite and bid for the number one spot. However, this had meant picking whose screen to use. She’d suggested hers for two reasons: so that she’d not have to lean against him, and so that she’d not have to lean any closer to the window, and risk seeing that stomach-churning height outside. So now, as he speaks, he’s practically in her ear.

“Are you… crying?”

“No, _duh_ ,” he replies, sitting back, but his voice has cracked slightly, exposing him. She can’t help but chuckle. “It’s a deeply personal film to me.”

“I can see that,” she says, unable to keep her smile off her face.

“Hey, you don’t get to tease me about getting emotional.”

“What? Why?”

“Earlier? When I mentioned the orange soda thing? You _freaked out_.”

“Putting it in your cereal is objectively disgusting!”

“Oh god, I shouldn’t have brought this up again.”

“You should _not_ be as fit as you are.”

“I’m fit?” He grins.

“Not… I didn’t mean…”

“Kidding.”

She nudges his shoulder and sits back in her seat. Heat rises in her cheeks- she can feel him looking at her even though she’s turned away, and suddenly she’s wishing she’d worn literally _any_ makeup, or perhaps something more form-flattering than a giant sweater and a pair of leggings.

“How’re you feeling?” He asks after a moment.

“Better,” she says slowly, and she means it- she’s tired, certainly, from the stress of the morning, but otherwise, she’s feeling pretty good. Plus, she’s made a friend. “How long left?”

“Uh…” He flicks on his screen. “Woah. An hour and a half.”

“Seriously?!” She looks over in amazement. “That’s incredible. Thank you.”

“Thank you?”

“For keeping me distracted.”

“Oh, right. Don’t worry about it. For the record, it’s been pretty enjoyable.”

She smiles gently. He’s not bad. Not at all.

“Excuse me,” an older voice comes from the seat in front of them. An elderly woman, easily in her seventies or eighties, has her head poking through the gap between her seat and the one next to her. “Excuse me.”

“Hi,” Amy says slowly, in some disbelief, sharing a brief look of confusion with Jake. “Can we help?”

“It’s just, I’ve been listening to the two of you, for the last couple hours,” she admits easily, prompting another shared look between Jake and Amy. “And I was wondering if I could ask you something.”

There’s a brief pause as they wait for her to ask- at which point it becomes clear that she’s genuinely asking for permission.

“Go ahead,” Jake says, after a second.

“When in the hell are you going to ask her out?”

 

 

***

 

 

As the plane plummets to the ground, swooping so fast Amy’s ears pop, her hand is clasped firmly over the warm arm of one Jake Peralta, a man she has known for six hours.

Her eyes are closed, and every thought in her head centres on the feeling of where she holds him. For the first time in her life, she’s finding her flight’s landing remarkably tolerable.

Eventually, a bump tells her they’re on the ground- then, gradually, bit by bit, they slow down.

With a deep breath, she begins to completely calm down, opening her eyes and turning to the kind, friendly, attractive man sat next to her- for a moment, she wonders how, today, she got so lucky.

“ _Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to New York. The current local time is 5:30pm_ _…”_

“Okay, so I guess this is it.”

“I guess so,” she agrees.

They watch each other quietly for a second- then, simultaneously, break out into huge grins, mirroring each other giddily.

“So…”

“See you at eight?”

“Sounds good.”


End file.
